


Safe

by confusedkayt



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blue Hawke, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Mage Hawke - Freeform, post act 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 13:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confusedkayt/pseuds/confusedkayt
Summary: Set immediately post Act 2.  Spoilers for Act 2 in the summary:
Immediately after defeating the Arishok, Hawke makes a dramatic gesture in a bid to protect Anders from Meredith.  Then it's time to check on every member of his little found family as they work to rebuild their tattered city.
This is intended as a sweet moment of respite, with a certain degree of wish-fulfillment about everybody being SAFE AND DEFINITELY NOT IN THE GALLOWS, before I plunge into playing Act 3.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HollowLand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollowLand/gifts).



> My good pal HollowLand had long suspected that I would adore Dragon Age, but I have never really played video games and so the learning curve was so steep I was clearly never going to get around to it. The incredibly kind solution? We play together! HollowLand handles all of the irritating battle-type stuff, and I get to drive all of the fun soap opera portions. I am having so much fun, and am really enjoying the emotional novelty of a choose-your-own-adventure movie. I could never have played without this cooperative venture, and could not be more grateful for HollowLand. :) Hopefully I am partially repaying the effort by regularly freaking out from an OVERABUNDANCE OF FEELS. 
> 
> Speaking of which, our Hawke is a mage and I about died on the spot when Meredith came onto the scene and called Hawke out for magic use. I more or less spent the rest of the act 2 endgame screaming, "THEY ARE GOING TO THROW ANDERS INTO WIZARD JAIL." This little story is an outgrowth of that terror - hell if I will live in a world where Meredith can't touch us but locks up Anders and/or tries to use him to blackmail us; I'd like to think we could leverage our popularity at the exact moment of the Arishok's defeat to bring Anders into our bubble of immunity.
> 
> We have not yet started to play Act 3, so this is very likely to be jossed, but I just wanted to satisfy the self-indulgent impulse to see everyone Hawke loves safe for one short minute. Hope you enjoy!

Cheers and shouts and the ring of Meredith’s pronouncement in the air. Meredith. Knight-commander Meredith, the author of so many of his nightmares and here she stands ready to manifest them, eyes hard as her hand is forced. Hard eyes sliding behind Hawke, scraping over him and behind and Anders, Anders, out in clear view of the Templar of Templars.

He can use this. He must. Hawke stands proud and tall with all the strength he can muster in his faltering body and pivots it toward his love, three steady steps and then his fingers are buried in familiar feathers, clutching too tight and he’d give anything to just hold on, bury his face in that well-loved throat and close his eyes, catch his breath. This is the next best thing. Anders goes rigid at the touch of his lips before his hands clasp hard at Hawke’s arms. The cheers intensify around them and Hawke pulls away just that tiny fraction, scrapes their jaws together until his mouth is near an ear. “I won’t let her take you,” and his voice is far too close to a growl. Anders’ fingers clutch even harder, just for a second, strong and safe and whole and _there_. He’s all right. Thank the Maker, he’s whole and safe and he will _stay that way._ “Heal me,” Hawke murmurs, and that’s more like the voice he knows. He can’t resist the impulse to nuzzle against that face, just for a moment. “Just enough to keep my innards… in,” and there’s a huff against him, a little half-amused sigh of relief that he’s well enough to joke. He knows what it must have looked like, the Arishok’s brutal weapon, the blood dripping even now to the floor. He feels it, now, as the rush of battle fades away and leaves the truth of pain behind. “I know you’ll be needing your energy tonight.” 

“Such promises, from a man with his innards out,” and he doesn’t like way Anders sounds just a bit dazed under the shell of his humor. Neither one of them can keep _that_ promise, not tonight. The city’s a mess from top to tail and god, it’ll be a slaughter down in the dark places. He’s amazed that Justice has stayed quiet this long. 

“Make it showy.” It’s too short by far but Anders understands - the soft set of his mouth, the bright light in his eyes. He’s glorious as he envelops Hawke in that familiar wash of crackling blue power in front of most of the nobility of Kirkwall. A little too much blue crackles across his skin, just long enough for a jolt of pure terror to run through Hawke because there’ll be no hiding it, not now, but Anders stays in control, thank all that’s luck and holy. 

The cheers are louder, now. Perhaps he just imagines it, but they haven’t dimmed, at least. There’s a roar, that’s for certain, when he takes a half-step back and laces his fingers through Anders’.

Aveline gives him an uncertain look but he can’t react, not now. She makes her efficient way to the Knight-Commander’s side and that’s enough, somehow, to break the moment. The crowd swirls around them, a rush to find family caught up in the Keep.

Aveline, bless her, moves like there’s not a scratch on her. The thought of leaving any one of his people behind, let alone with _Meredith_ , whips up a clawing thing in his belly but there’s truly nothing for it. Nothing to be done but tug gently at Anders’ hand and smile best he can as they make their way out of the half-wrecked grand hallway. Fenris and Isabela ooze out of the shadows to flank them. He’s dying to stop and look and take stock of his friends but this is not the place.

Neither is the courtyard, not really, but he can’t bring himself to resist when Anders slows to a stop. The bright sheen of his eyes, the way his throat works. “I love you,” and his voice echoes and thrums with that other presence. Shocks crackle up from their joined hands.

“Don’t stop on my account,” and Isabela’s voice is all cheer even if her smile is forced.

“Stop on mine,” and Fenris sounds steady, thank it all. There’s a worried twist to his mouth. “That was… foolish.”

That’s downright restrained. He can’t help but scrape his eyes over his friend. “All in one piece, then?” and he looks it. He hold himself stiff but steady, sizing Hawke up much the same way. He nods, at least, and it’ll have to do.

“I’m just fine, thanks for asking,” and Isabela doesn’t sound angry, not truly.

He musters up a smile. “I wasn’t worried for a second.” She dips her head and smirks at him, and if it’s a little uncertain, well, what a day. A little tease, then, to let her know they’re all right, or they will be. She came back. She _came back._ He still can’t get his head around it. “You do know how to make an entrance,” he tries.

“Pity you specialize in the exit these days, sweet thing,” she purrs and of course that pulls a sharp remark from Fenris and a half-joke from Anders and for a moment it’s so stupidly, wonderfully _normal_ he could weep from it.

It’s spoiled by the clatter of armor. They all go for their weapons and there’s a bad moment - Chantry brothers, out in force, and they freeze at the sight of Hawke’s party. Their captain barks something, though, and off they go. The tension stays, almost snaps when one pauses to look at them but then he recognizes the face. Sebastian, looking more or less whole, and Hawke’s more relieved about that than he thought he’d be.

Fenris snorts. “The nobility is certainly well-guarded.”

Typical, really, of this mess of a city. All the armed hands here in Hightown and none where they’re needed. “We’ve got to get to the clinic,” and he can feel Anders’ eyes on him. Hawke spares him a smile and god he’s incandescent, at least before the worry settles over him. No more time to waste, really. “Will you come with me?” and he’s asking but he doesn’t know what he’ll do if the answer is no. It’s after-disaster nerves, he knows it is, but he needs them _close,_ all of them.

“Miss the end of this story? Perish the thought,” and Isabela’s smile is a little uncertain, fear lurking underneath, but she’ll be all right.

Fenris just grunts and falls into step behind them.

Hawke settles a little, familiar footsteps and the comforting burble of their stupid banter behind him. A little wary, sure, but how could they be otherwise - blood and rubble in the familiar streets, people rushing everywhere.

“This isn’t the way to the clinic.” Anders has a look about him like he’s going to dig his heels in. As well he should, really. He’s wasting time, but there’s a growing lump of dread in his belly - so much chaos, even up here, and he just needs to _see_.

“It won’t take a minute. I just…” Hawke shakes his head. “Just have to check in on Bodhan and Sandal.”

Rescue comes from an unexpected quarter. “We’ll travel faster as a group.” Fenris looks at him with something very like understanding. It’s enough the sand the worst edges off his worry, at least. Enough to mollify Anders, too, for the moment, even if he does speed their pace.

It’s the work of minutes to make it home. The door’s locked, and thank the Maker for that. Hawke pounds on it three times, four, five. At last there’s a voice through the thick door. “You won’t find what you’re looking for in here, but you will find the bolt of my crossbow.”

Bodhan’s voice. “It’s me,” Hawke hollers, and there’s a great deal of scraping. The door opens just a crack - any more would be impractical. Half the furniture in the house is shoved up against it. “Stout fellow,” he says, and if his chuckle is a little giddy, what of it. “All right in there?”

“Right as rain, messere,” and there’s an excited whine and the glimpse of one soft ear.

“Ho there, boy,” and his trusty Mabari sounds as happy to hear him as Hawke is to see him safe and whole. “Good job.” The shuffle of feet behind him. Better get a move on. “And Sandal?”

“Had a bit of a scare, I’m afraid, but he’ll be all right. He’s resting in the storeroom.” Another one of the weights shifts from Hawke’s shoulders. They are lucky, indeed, it would seem.

“We’re headed to Darktown,” and he ignores Bodman’s huffs and muttering. “You’ll be all right in there?”

Bodhan chuckles. “I’d say the worst is over. Don’t you worry about us.”

A pregnant pause. “We won’t be back tonight, I’d wager,” and that spawns more grumbling. “You’ll be safe?”

“Said so, didn’t I?” and the humor-the-mother-hen in Bodman’s voice gives him a little turn. He’s used to hearing that tone, but generally not directed at him. “No living soul will get through me and the hound, here.”

“We need to go,” Anders murmurs behind him, and fair enough. They’ve spent enough time here. Short goodbyes and he has to resist the impulse to wait and listen to the re-fortification of the door.

Isabela slinks up beside him. “Careful,” Hawke tries. “That smirk is really more of a smile. Wouldn’t want to lose your reputation.”

She raises one dark eyebrow. “It’s not my reputation in jeopardy. Someone’s shepherding instincts are showing.”

Hawke shrugs. “You can take the boy out of Ferelden…”

“The hound-smell is proof enough of that old saw.”

Hawke snorts at that. “Fenris, it hardly seems like your heart’s in it.”

“Speaking of hearts,” and the cheer in Isabela’s tone sounds less false by the second, “this will be a tale for the ages. The apostate mage steps out of the shadows and challenges that mountain of a Qunari to a duel, and all for the love of me.” She oozes on up to Anders. “Better watch your back.”

He just snorts at her. “Somehow, I’m not worried.”

Isabela presses a hand to her breast. “You wound me, serah.”

“I’m about to,” and that’s Fenris, for you. Never bother with a segue when you can make an awkward pause. “This is suspiciously easy.”

Indeed, they’re making faster progress through Lowtown than they usually manage. By now, usually they’ll’ve been forced to tangle with one set of overly-optimistic street toughs or another.

“Nothing suspicious about it.” Isabela’s gesture encompasses the whole street. Now that he’s focusing on it, there’s purpose to the scramble of activity. Reunions, yes, but a goodly number of people are searching bodies and rubble for what there is to be found. There’s even a few fistfights over especially rich spoils. “Why pick a fight when there’s so much just lying there for the taking?”

“Don’t get any ideas,” and there’s warning and strain in Anders’ voice.

Isabela is Isabela. That just draws an inelegant snort and a wry twist of her mouth. “You say that like I haven’t been picking what’s worth picking as we go. Hasn’t slowed you down yet.”

“I should never have underestimated you,” and that’s dry as dust but Anders doesn’t seem too agitated, so that’s something.

Isabela shoots Hawke a look he can’t quite interpret. It’s… soft, but lacks the casual covetousness he usually gets from her. “In fact, maybe I’d better stop by the Hanged Man and get while the getting’s good.”

“We don’t have _time_ ,” Anders starts, and there’s a worrying reverberation in his voice.

Isabela looks as wary as ever she does, but her voice is light when she says, “I said I, not we, sweet thing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“We are NOT splitting up,” but Hawke’s speaking to the wind. She’s damn fast when she wants to be.

Anders’ fingers are gentle on Hawke’s elbow. “She’ll find us.”

“I would hope so. She knows where we’re going.”

“Yes, thank you for that contribution, Fenris, very comforting,” and it’s at least a relief that their sniping is a little more toothless than usual.

Still, he can’t help but notice the glint of weapons, the quiet, desperate struggles all around them. A fine thing it would be to survive all this and meet a sticky end from a cutpurse in all of the chaos. Or a stray Qunari, looking to get in one last strike for the insult on his way out of town. Or, or, or.

Fenris draws up even with him. “Isabela is an expert at watching her own back,” and that’s some imitation of comfort.

It’s almost a relief that the streets are too crowded for much more conversation. Hawke takes rear guard, and if it’s mostly to keep his eyes on the two people who haven’t taken off for Maker knows where, he’s done things for worse reasons.

Still, he breathes easier when Isabela’s waiting for them at their usual entrance to Darktown. “Miss me, boys?”

“Terribly,” and Hawke’s pretty sure Fenris doesn’t know how sincere he sounds when he says it.

Isabela must hear it, too; she stretches, unsubtle as ever, not that Fenris reacts much. “It’s even more of a mob in there than usual. No kind of place for a short man. Or anyone who wants to keep all in one piece, for that matter.”

Varric can take care of himself. Hawke knows that, he does, and still, he’d give a good month’s pay to lay eyes on him. “No sign of him, then?” and he knows the strain is showing, a little at least.

Isabela’s good about it, though, doesn’t tease much. “A little bird told me he went down to the clinic.”

Fenris halfheartedly curls a lip at Anders. “It would seem that you’re predictable.”

“I prefer reliable,” and oh, he doesn’t much like the strain in Anders’ voice.

He likes the lay of the land even worse. It’s a slaughter down here, piles of bodies and pieces thereof strewn in every bit of the street. The smell is something, and the sounds… Wailing and screaming, skitters and scuffles and desperate shouts of the names of lost loved ones. Hawke cups a gentle hand around Anders’ elbow. He always takes things hard and this… It doesn’t bear thinking of. The Qunari have a lot to answer for this day.

The noise intensifies. Not hard to see why - there’s a crowd outside the clinic. Some of Anders’ volunteers are outside, doing their best to impose some kind of order but people are too panicked for that today. It’s even worse when they spot Anders - a ripple of whispers and then a rush, clinging hands and oh, he looks _agonized_. It sits badly, low and hard in his gut, but someone’s got to clear a path so that the man of the hour can do some actual healing. The three of them surround Anders, do their best to be gentle about it but there’s a certain level of unavoidable pushing and these people are in bad enough shape already without a spare blow.

Yasmin whisks Anders away, reporting in her quiet and level-headed way, as soon as they cross the threshold. This was the goal, after all, and he doesn’t begrudge these people but Hawke feels a little… bereft, left behind without so much as a goodbye. After-battle drop, pretty bad this time.

Maybe he’s even swaying a little, if Varric’s steadying hand on his arm is any indication. “And that’s my cue,” he says, and Hawke hauls him in without thinking, a hard hug around the shoulders.

Varric chuckles. “Good to see you too, but you’d better sit down before you fall down. Can’t have Kirkwall’s Champion take a tumble in front of an audience this size.”

“So you’ve heard about that, then,” and he doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“News like that travels fast.” Varric gives a little shove. “And believe me, I want to hear all about it as soon as it dies down around here.” A slightly uncomfortable pause. “It’s like this all over. Daisy’s doing what she can up in the alienage. It’s a charnel-house up there.”

“Poor thing,” and Isabela sounds sincere, for once. Hawke breathes a little easier. Not as good as seeing her with his own two eyes, not that he has for a while. He might be on the outs with Merrill, but damn if he doesn’t worry about her all the same. They have the Maker’s own luck - a day like today and all of them, all his people, still standing.

If anybody asks, he says a little from the relief of it. Varric’s eyes are warm, and he tugs on Hawke’s elbow. “Now, come on. The sooner you sit, the sooner I sit.”

“That doesn’t sound half-bad,” he’s got to admit, but easier said than done. Every last inch of the clinic is packed, no spare space anywhere.

“I know you know the way,” Isabela smirks. She’s practically hovering at his free elbow - must look pretty bad, then.

It takes a while to pick their way back to the little screened-off room where Anders keeps his cot and all the good drugs. Somewhere along the line, he realizes he’s lost Fenris. No need to worry, not like this, but it’s hard to unwind after a battle like that in chaos like this.

Varric knows him too well, sometimes. He jerks his chin to the left and Hawke’s eyes follow it. There he is, and hard at work by the look of him. “Broody knows his way around a bandage,” and that chuckle is a little too sad to come off properly. “And don’t get any ideas. You’ve done enough today.”

Hawke would like to argue but he’s feeling it. It’s a massive relief to sit down on the edge of the cot. It’s less comfortable to be shoved at until he’s lying down, but Isabela does it with a stagey wink that draws a little laugh out of him.

He still can’t quite shut his brain off - he’d feel a lot better if he could see them, all of them, but he’d settle for Fenris and Anders.

“Close those pretty eyes,” Isabela commands. “The way this day’s going, someone else will attack and we’ll need you rested up.” She settles down onto a crate of supplies stashed near Varric, leaving her with a good view of the door. Seems he’s not the only one struggling to wind down. “Think I’ll stay right here. Safest place to be if the Qunari come calling,” and there’s real fear underneath her teasing tone.

He doesn’t have good words to say it - they won’t take her. They won’t take any of them, not while he’s got breath. Maybe she knows that, now. Maybe it just takes a little time for that kind of knowledge to settle.

Varric’s looking at him in that knowing way he’s got. “Sleep, Hawke. We’ll keep an eye on Blondie for you.” He locks eyes with Isabela. “As for you… I need _details_.”

The last thing he sees before he slips off to sleep is Isabela’s grin splitting her face. He drifts off to the cheerful burble of their gossip. Safe. They’re all good and safe.


End file.
